A Father's Pride: The Beginning
by Starlite Addiction
Summary: Voldemort decides not to kill baby Harry, and when the time is right he brings the boy to live with him, as his son, until he's ready attend Hogwarts and show the world that he is not the innocent, Order-loving boy Dumbledore expected. Slash, undecided.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

**Summary:** 'Neither can live while the other survives'. Voldemort knows it, and is determined to kill his rival - even if that person is still an infant. But when he catches sight of young Harry, he realizes that everything would be different if the Child of Light were to be turned into the Prince of Darkness. He waits for his chance, then steals away the child from the Dursleys and adopts little Harry as his own son, shielding him from the world until he is to attend Hogwarts. How will the wizarding world react to the infamous Boy-Who-Disappeared when he is not the creature Dumbledore hoped to mold?

**Warnings:** Slash, AU I suppose, since Harry is being raised by Voldemort. Mentions of assault/abuse, Dumbledore issues, Death Eater favoritism.

**Pairings:** Uncertain as of now. Ideas?

**A/N: **This **IS NOT **the same story as 'A Father's Pride'. The storyline might be similar, but many aspects are quite different. For instance, Harry remains a boy, and will be brought up quite differently, as you will soon see. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as you liked the first three chapters of 'A Father's Pride'.

A Father's Pride: The Beginning

It had been so easy to kill James. Tom had never been fond of the man; the Potters throughout history had always been too cocky for their own good. He had actually gotten a sort of satisfaction out of the act.

Lily, on the other hand, had been a challenge to deal with.

"Don't kill him," the redhead begged, arms spread out protectively as she shielded the crib with her body. "Please, please, don't kill him. Take me instead."

Tom sighed. "Step aside, you foolish girl."

"No! Take me! Not Harry, please!"

_"Step aside."_

Lily shook her head. Tears had begun to drip down her face, but she ignored them, shaking in fear for her baby. "Please don't do this. He's only a baby, he can't even hurt you."

Tom grit his teeth. He wasn't even sure why he was letting this insipid girl cause him to hesitate. It wasn't like she posed any threat to him; he could blast her to smithereens at any moment.

Maybe that was the reason. Did this woman really care about her brat so much as to die in his place? A small, repulsive voice in Tom's mind commented that the action was admirable, if completely idiotic. Mentally, he told the voice to go shove itself in a not-so-friendly location.

"You don't have to die like your husband, Lily." Voldemort altered his voice, making it soothing, safe. "Move out of the way, and you can serve under me. I can offer you anything in the world you desire."

Lily's emerald eyes flashed. "The only thing I want is for my child to grow up safely and happily!"

"Unfortunate." Voldemort raised his arm, gripping his wand more tightly. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The flash of green light was breathtaking. Lily's face blanked; eyes glazed over, she fell to the ground, wand falling from her sudden slack hold. Voldemort stepped forward, making sure to tread on the piece of wood and grinning when he heard a satisfying crack. He bent over the crib to observe the creature who had been causing him so much trouble lately.

Harry's hair, even at so young an age, was long and glossy black, splayed out over his head. He cooed as he stared up at Voldemort with brilliant jade eyes, the exact same shade as his mother's.

Voldemort found the similarity rather uncomfortable. Again he raised his wand, stepping back a step. "Children are the worst to kill," he murmured to Harry. "Don't think I enjoy this. You aren't tarnished yet; you haven't been exposed long enough to the stupidity of wizards."

Harry gurgled, and Voldemort froze. The sounds the baby had been making sounded eerily similar to...

Slowly, he again stepped forward, tucking away his wand. "What did you say?" he whispered.

Harry watched him for a moment, then laughed. A shiver went down Voldemort's spine. He couldn't believe it: Harry James Potter, the son of two Order Members, was a Parselmouth. And here Voldemort had been certain he was the only one left in the world. The disproving of this assumption was actually rather...warming.

Alarms pierced the air from the distance, and Voldemort cursed. Of course, those damn Muggles nearby had probably seen the flashes from the curses through windows. He didn't have much time if he wanted to avoid anymore deaths tonight.

Quickly, the man leaned down and pressed two fingers to Harry's head. "Sleep now," he ordered, watching as the baby's eyelids slipped shut and he began to breathe in and out evenly. Sure of his unconsciousness, Voldemort took his wand and pressed it to Harry's forehead, just above his eyebrows. _"Unctio," _he whispered. A tiny, focused ball of white light emerged from the tip of the wand and spread across Harry's body. When it was gone, the boy was left with a small scar, shaped like a lightning bolt, on his forehead.

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. "This is not the last time I'll be seeing you, Harry," he hissed in Parseltongue to the baby, before Apparating out of the house and back to his own manor, leaving a sleeping Harry Potter behind.

* * *

I hope you all enjoy this! Please review!

~SA


	2. Inside My Head

"Harry! Wake up!"

Six-year-old Harry James Potter flinched, eyes flashing open as his uncle's angry voice pierced through his thoughts. Frantically, he jumped out of bed and pulled on the first pair of pants he snatched from the cupboard floor, glancing at the beaten old alarm clock resting on the shelf next to his mattress. It was only seven in the morning; what was going on?

"POTTER!"

Oh no. Moving more quickly now, Harry yanked a pair of ratty, mismatched sneakers onto his feet without bothering to pull on socks. He fumbled with the handle on the cupboard door, turning it and stepping out into the front hall, where his uncle was waiting for him.

Vernon Dursley was a thick man. Thick neck, thick legs, thick stomach. His hands though, were the thickest of all his body parts, and ended with thick, hard, meaty fingers that packed a punch. These fingers clenched into fists as the man scowled at his nephew.

"Why didn't you do the dishes last night, boy?" he growled.

Harry hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed. Should he remind his uncle of the truth, or just apologize and go do them now?

"BOY!"

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, taking a step back. "I- I was going to do them last night after dinner, but you sent me to my room. Don't- Don't you remember?"

For a moment, he thought his uncle would indeed remember this, that it wasn't his fault he hadn't gotten a chance to wash the dishes. He chanced a small smile and looked the man straight in the eye.

_WHAM!_

"Ow!" he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind him. His face stung all over, and he could feel that something was wrong with his nose, as blood dripped down over his lips. He stared up at his uncle, whose face had begun to turn a strangely sick shade of purple. "Wh-what did I do?"

"You lied to me, you stupid brat!" Vernon took another menacing step towards his nephew. "I ALWAYS tell you to wash the dishes, no matter what! Now Dudders has nothing to place his breakfast on!"

"Th-there are other plates-"

"Those aren't as nice!"

"Vernon."

Both man and boy turned; the former quickly arranged his expression into that of a smile, opening his arms to hug his wife. "Good morning, Tuney. Did I wake you?"

Petunia sniffed. "You did, actually. Has breakfast been made yet?"

"I haven't gotten around to it quite yet, darling. The boy has been causing me some problems."

Harry remained silent as Vernon threw him a quick glance. He knew his job; if Aunt Petunia knew that he, not Vernon, had been cooking breakfast for the family for the past few weeks, she would grow angry with her husband, and he would take it out on his nephew. Harry really didn't care for another beating at the moment.

Petunia nodded. "Alright, don't worry about it; I'll make pancakes. Would you like pancakes, Harry?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry answered instantly, even as his stomach rumbled loudly. Pancakes! He hadn't had pancakes in months.

"Lovely. Would you like to help me cook?"

Vernon's expression was sour once again. "Darling, I'm not sure you should trust him in the kitchen..."

"Oh, nonsense. I won't make him do anything too challenging." Petunia breezed past her husband, kissing him lightly on the cheek before taking Harry's hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. "Have a good day at work!" she called behind her. Vernon mumbled something in reply and stalked out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.

Once her husband was gone, Petunia sighed and smiled down at her nephew. "I'm not stupid, Harry," she told the boy softly, stroking his bloodstained chin. "I'm not stupid at all. But I am weak, and poor, and the mother of two boys - one of whom isn't even my biological child. I'm a stay-at-home mother, with no education past an undergraduate degree in Mathematics. And look where that's gotten me."

"You don't like me?" Harry asked, expression falling a little. "Am I bad?"

"No, no, of course you're not bad! I love both you and Dudley very much. But the things I allow to happen to you...letting Vernon lock you in that cupboard whenever you 'mess up', giving you Dudley's secondhand clothes, having you cook...oh yes, I know about that," she added, catching Harry's wide-eyed surprise. "Vernon could never cook, and I was supposed to believe all of a sudden he could handle the eggs without burning them? I don't think so."

"I don't mind," Harry admitted. "I- I don't mind cooking. Uncle Vernon says it makes things easier for you."

Petunia's eyes widened, and she almost dropped the skillet she was setting on the stove. "Easier for me? Harry, don't ever worry about what will make things easier for me. You're the child."

"I want to help you," the boy answered earnestly. It was true. While Uncle Vernon constantly criticized or ridiculed him, and Dudley used him as a human punching bag, Aunt Petunia had always attempted to lighten his punishments, to assist him when she could. His entire life, she was the only person who had ever shown him any kindness. All he wanted was to return the favor.

"MUM! I'm hungry!"

"Oh dear." Petunia set down the eggs and milk. "I'd better go check on Dudley. I'll be back to help you in a moment. Don't touch the ingredients, okay? And get a warm washcloth to put on your face; I'll look at your nose in a moment."

She bustled out of the kitchen, leaving Harry to dig in the drawers for an old dish towel and soak it under the faucet. When he had mopped the blood off of his face and his aunt still had not returned from his cousin's room, he walked over to the counter and began measuring out cups of flour. Yes, Aunt Petunia had told him not to touch anything, but he had been doing this for a while, and she was his person. He could make his person some cupcakes.

* * *

"What day is it?"

Severus glanced up from his potion to the man sitting a few feet away, previously silent. "The thirty-first of December, Tom. Why?"

Tom Riddle, known to most of the wizarding world as Lord Voldemort, smiled slightly. "I was just...thinking. Today is my birthday."

"Happy Birthday. Would you like me to bake you a cake?"

"Shut up, Severus." Tom sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "It has been exactly half a year since Harry Potter turned six, and I haven't checked up on him once. Maybe I should pay him a visit."

"Potter?" For the first time Snape looked up and fixed his gaze on the other man, eyes narrowed. "You really...I thought..."

"You didn't believe me when I told you I branded him? When I told you I would be keeping an eye on him over the years?"

Snape said nothing, but he didn't need to; the truth was visible in his eyes. Voldemort's smile returned.

"While I must admit I haven't really kept up with the latter promise, the former- that is very much true. He _is_ branded, and I will be checking up on him very soon."

Snape made a face. "I still don't understand why you didn't just kill him when you had the chance. He's a Potter. He's bound to be the spitting image of his arrogant father: lazy, spoiled, conceited, aesthetic-"

"He's six, Severus."

"So? These habits can begin at a very early age."

Tom sighed, settling back in his seat again. "Severus...he's a Parselmouth."

Severus froze. His potion bubbled dangerously for a moment, then-

BOOM!

Tom laughed. Severus scowled and wiped the pink goop out of his eyes. "I hate you," he muttered, wringing out his hair. Tom laughed harder.

* * *

Finally, right? Anyways, please review!

~SA


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